In Memoriam Àngel Hidalgo, † 07/05/2010, 89 years

I got to know him in his 80s though I did not really know him personally. He was a short and skinny man with an egg-shaped head, always cleanly shaven, who walked around in old-fashioned clothing of the countryside, hat included. One would see him around the village or on of the paths surrounding it, with a plastic bag and maybe some small tool gathering stuff that might be useful, edible or sellable: e.g. in May that might be wild asparagus, in October almonds from trees grown wild or from those whose owners did not care to collect their fruit – he did not steal, I think. On Tuesdays, market day in the county capital 7 km away, he would put cushions in the back of his tricicle-like open vehicle powered by a noisy motorcycle engine and take his partner to the market at a speed of about 20 km/h. His wife had died years before and his new partner he had got to know by placing an ad in a newspaper, they said. She claimed to be more than ninety years old but nobody around here knew for sure. They were close to few people in the village, maybe because of their Castilian origins. She sometimes went to the 6 p.m. train to see her grandson pass by – and to give him some food or money. On Friday we passed by their house and saw it was for sale; we had not seen them around in quite a while. On Saturday we heard the church bells ring for a funeral mass but did not know who had died. On Sunday we learned it was him whom they had buried the day before at the village cemetery in a “whole” next to his wife; he who had recently lived with a daughter of his in a neighboring village, separated by the circumstances of old age and ill-health from his partner who lived with her children somewhere else.
As we are at it: Àngel had had a short and skinny son also named Àngel, who died about five years ago of lung cancer: a chain-smoking construction worker who was a regular at the local bar, one of the likeable ones, until they diagnosed his disease. He left a bereaved wife and two grown-up sons, both of them short and skinny, one of them “problematic”, also named Àngel...

NY impressions: Starbucks

On a recent trip to “the Big Apple” I discovered the convenience of having a Starbucks café on nearly every street corner of downtown Manhattan. As the weather was mixed it was good to know that there was a safe haven around whenever one needed it. Though the heating did not work properly in all of them and not all of them had a restroom, if one made sure about these requisits, one could spend an agreeable time with cheap coffee (1,20 EURO the smallest one, paradoxically called “tall”), sometimes even seated on comfortable armchairs, watching people. As they offer free wireless internet access, one could learn about the types of laptop computers now “en vogue” and especially see which types of cell phones the locals use: basically Blackberries and phones by other brands that are emulating these, i.e. have a keyboard for comfortable text-messaging. Probably our favorite Starbucks was near Cooper Union, with another one near Columbus Square a close second. I observed Asian-American students discussing a passage from scripture: one with a traditional Bible in front of her, the other with the text on her cell phone screen. Other students tasting cup cakes that one of them brought with her from another store. Some even studied. People in danger of becoming homeless and / or alcoholics sleeping in a corner or with their head bend down touching the table or a note pad in front of them. At some establishments sleeping was tolerated, at others they were woken up by staff. If one doesn’t fall asleep, nobody cares about how long one stays, and there are refills at half the price if you keep your cup. Some people might critizice that they provide only unisex bathrooms. And I would recommend a better waste management, i.e. selection and recycling of plastics.

Dreary shopping

This morning I went grocery shopping in a discount supermarket in Móra d’Ebre, Ribera d’Ebre district, a small town about 20km from here where they have real supermarkets. The experience was depressing, as always. It rained, not a common event around here, and the temperature was about 15°C (59°F). The main road leading to the supermarket is windy and open to traffic in two directions though due to a variable width not all spots of it allow for two cars using it at the same time. Parking spaces are limited and with heavy rain, a popular spot underneath a river bridge becomes dangerous as the water coming down from the centre of town might flood away the cars parked there. I arrived at about 10 a.m. At the supermarket’s fruit and vegetable area it was difficult to reach things as there were crates and boxes everywhere as they were still filling the shelves – one hour after opening. Nowadays one has to be very attentive and look carefully as a lot of the stuff they sell is already rotten or about to rot or behind its “best before” date; today all the broccoli they had was brown... Walking through the rest of the supermarket one could observe a lot of immigrants: one Brit in bathing shorts, extravagant to say the least, considering the weather. Maroccons going quietly about their shopping. Sub-Saharan Africans counting their change to see if they could afford a packet of bread and a glass of mayonnaise; and a homeless of local origin counting his change to buy a tetra-pak of red wine. Near the cash register I saw a price tag for a USB memory stick, a good bargain. Items like these, but also brand deodorants costing 1,99 EUR, they sell from locked shelves. I asked for one stick, they had to look for the key first, and then they discovered that they did not have any... I paid and went outside to carry my shopping to the car. On the way there, I passed the window of a cheap-goods store run by Chinese and I could smell its typical smell though the window was closed. I also saw a group of homeless-looking men sitting in a dry spot drinking canned beer and two gypsies, one inside and the other aside an open trash container where they looked for I don’t know what. If one tries to leave old clothes in a special container there, they are immediately beside one and ask one to hand them the old stuff. My car was still there and I could drive home. Though it might sound condescending or even racist, I always feel relieved that I do not live there and only have to go every other week for the grocery shopping.